


Miracle on 12th Street

by WhiteRoseOfRivendell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Christmas, Christmas Easter Eggs throughout, Dean Winchester Doesn’t Believe In Santa, Dean being a Scrooge, Destiel - Freeform, Fluffy and festive, It’s Christmas!, M/M, Miracle on 34th Street Elements, Of Course There is a Happy Ending, santa claus is coming to town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 01:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13225002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteRoseOfRivendell/pseuds/WhiteRoseOfRivendell
Summary: Dean Winchester just can’t seem to find his Christmas spiritAnd every day poor Sam has to hear itThe elder Winchester isn’t enjoying the seasonAnd doesn’t quite know the exact reasonBut soon a case not far from homeWill test him in ways he has never knownWill Dean find what he truly wants ‘neath the tree?Will a ghost, an angel, and a suit come to beThe path by which two beings find themselvesAmongst the glitter, the cheer, and the elvesBut perhaps the big finish of a tale so tall:Will Dean Winchester believe in Santa after all?





	Miracle on 12th Street

_11:47 pm, Christmas Eve_

 

The bite of winter nipped at his flush cheeks as he stepped out into the snow. It was incredibly dark. The area in front of the bunkers entrance was completely shadowed from the moon. Had it not been for the evening snowfall, one would not be able to tell the ground from the trees. His gloved hand reached into his back pocket and retrieved his phone. The device quickly illuminated the area and Dean headed toward the precipice.

******

_Two Weeks Earlier_

 

The fact that it was nearing the end of December was not what bothered Sam Winchester about the case that they were now currently driving steadily toward. The weather blustering outside of the Impala, barely kept at bay by the vintage heating system, was not the problem either. It was Dean. It was Dean and his incessant bah-humbugging. It had started the moment Sam had brought the case to him, jogging up to his brother, laptop in hand.

“Hey, I think I found one,” Sam had announced.

“Great,” Dean had replied with well-contained enthusiasm, “Let’s see it.”

Sam had placed the laptop in front of his brother, giving him the appropriate bitch-face glance. The screen showed a news article about a man who had been found dead on the dock of a local department store in the Imperial Mall. He was frozen solid, wearing nothing but his underclothes. The article went on to say that he was not only an employee of the store, but also their Santa Claus.

“So? The guy probably got drunk and fell asleep,” Dean had responded dismissively.

“He was frozen solid, Dean. The weather last night in Hastings was thirty four degrees. He could have died of hypothermia, but frozen?” He had taken a seat next to his brother and turned the laptop back toward him, “I researched O’Hara’s Department Store, and it just so happens that another man died there thirty years ago. It was the stores’ original Santa Claus. I mean, the guy had been there for twenty five years. He was found on the dock, with only his boxers and undershirt, bound and dead of hypothermia. Guess who the security guard was that found him.”

“Our vic,” Dean had answered.

“Yep,” Sam sat back. He had watched his brother’s face for a moment. He knew that the next person to speak would lose this particular battle. Victory was near. When Dean looked back at Sam, he knew he had him.

It was only about an hour drive to Hastings from the bunker. Dean had talked the whole way about how this was most likely not their kind of thing, and if it was that it would be a salt and burn case. They would be home by morning and he could get a break from all of the cheery depictions of Santa Claus and the jingling of bells everywhere. It was bad enough, Dean had complained, that Sam had pulled out all of the old Christmas records kept among the musical archives of the Men of Letters. There had been Bing Crosby, Percy Faith, and Mitch Miller ringing throughout the bunker for weeks. And Sam had rallied Castiel to help him decorate every square inch. The elder Winchester couldn’t throw a stick five feet without hitting something of holiday cheer.

Sam listened to his bitching for the entire time, occasionally rolling his eyes at his brothers ranting. As their destination came into view, he gave a small sigh of relief. They pulled up to the motel. Its eves were donned with multicolored Christmas lights and a large, red bow. They grabbed their bags and suits from the trunk. Dean looked around and came to rest his eyes on the small motel office. A dollar store Santa face was taped to the window and a large wreath hung on the door.

“If the desk clerk has a Santa hat on, I’m going to punch him in the face.”

That is when Sam lost his patience, “Dude, what is wrong with you? You used to really like Christmas...”

“I used to pretend to like Christmas,” Dean interrupted, “It was just because I knew how excited you would get at this time of year. I wanted it to be good for you, that’s all,” he played it off.

“That’s bullshit. Last year you ran out to the Christmas tree like Santa really had come. The only thing you were missing were the footy jammies,” Sam laughed.

It was true. Perhaps the gifts under the tree were not from Santa, but he had been excited nonetheless. Dean had woken up early that Christmas morning and decided that it was time for Sam and Cas to get a move on as well. The sleepy pair had followed him out into the main chambers and they all sat beneath the twinkling lights and shining ornaments. Gifts were exchanged, jibes were given freely amongst shoulder punches and joyful giggles. The feeling had been contagious and the three sat there as if they were young boys again; well two of them did. 

Though Cas had never experienced childhood himself, he observed his friends and felt their mirth. Their jokes and roughhousing were indicators to him of just how, in a sense, the human soul was ever young. It made him feel an even more profound connection to his mortal companions. Within their very souls was a ray of immortality, not unlike himself. The space between them had seemed to lessen.

Still standing outside of the motel in the cold, Dean smiled and slapped his younger brother on the arm, “There is no Santa, Sammy. I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Dean turned and began to walk toward the office, “And anyway, I’m just not feeling in the holiday mood this year, ok? Can we just check into our motel?” He called over his shoulder.

Well, the desk clerk was not wearing a Santa hat, but the plastic, blinking Christmas light necklace hanging around the small, round, middle-aged woman’s neck made Dean’s eye twitch ever so slightly.

******

As it turned out, it was a salt and burn case. They visited the store dressed in their usual FBI attire. After touring the crime scene, as well as the stock rooms and inner hallways, they decided to move on. They met with the original victim’s next of kin. Her name was Violet Thornton, and she lived in a quaint, little home just outside of the city.

“Roger was a gentle man. He loved working as Santa during the holidays,” the elderly lady reminisced, “He loved the children and how their faces would light up when they saw him. I think it was because he could never have children of his own. His wife, whom he loved dearly, was barren, you see. I think that he felt that if he couldn’t give a life to this world, that he would help make the lives of others a little better,” she smiled.

Dean and Sam looked at each other.

Dean cleared his throat, “Wow, your brother sounds like he was a heck of a guy. You never thought that he might have had enemies?”

“Oh my no,” she said, “But he found out about the money laundering that was going on in O’Hara’s, and those two killed him for it. One of the worst days of my life hearing that phone ring and it being Carol on the other end, hysterical with grief.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sam empathized.

She smiled, the numerous lines beside her eyes deepening. She then sighed and patted the white curls atop her head. A habit no doubt to relieve her unease, but the action appeared to be straight out of a 1950s movie.

“There were two people involved in the laundering?” Dean pressed.

“Yes, well actually, I always thought it was three, but they never found proof that the security guard was part of it. Linus Draumeier, who was the Floor Manager, went to prison. He was convicted of laundering and murder. Kate Wellington, who was the General Manager, spent a few years in a women’s correctional facility, but she is out now. She always maintained her innocence of Roger’s murder, and so she was only convicted of money laundering. We could never be sure of what actually happened. They were good friends before he died, you see. Maybe if they hadn’t been, Roger would still...” she sighed, and her breath hitched, “No, no use going down that road. It is what it is.”

That evening, the boys dug up Roger Thornton’s bones. A generous amount of salt and some lighter fluid later, the case was closed. They spent the night in the motel as it had gotten late and neither had felt like making the hour drive home. They opted for a twelve pack of beer and late night reruns. Cas was at the bunker, on the lookout for any cases that might pop up, so there was no need to return that night.

The next morning, they drove home and joined Cas in researching possible cases. Nothing was forthcoming and by the afternoon the laptops were shut and lethargy had set in. Dean sat on his bed listening to Led Zepplin through his headphones. They had been a Christmas gift from Sam last year, most likely in an attempt to quiet the noise that reverberated through the walls and rang throughout the bunker on a consistent basis. 

It was better than Christmas music, he thought. 

Dean opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. 

Christmas.

It was coming this year, the same as it had come every year. This time it just seemed different. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what was bothering him. Since they had moved into the bunker, he had been more festive and excitable during the holidays. It felt like normal Christmases should be, or at least as close as two hunters and an angel could get to normal. This year there seemed to be something blocking him from getting into the spirit. He closed his eyes again and thought of last year. 

Sam had introduced them to the tradition of Christmas crackers. When they had sat down to eat dinner, each of them had a small cylinder wrapped in shiny paper and tied at the ends with ribbon. His little brother explained that it was a holiday tradition in the UK and that they were to pull on the ends. It was a little lame, but Dean had played along. The crackers popped open leaving an array of confetti and small prizes in their laps. Dean quickly batted the mess from his pants, taking care to save the blue paper crown and two little toys. As he looked up from where he had placed them on the table, his eyes came to rest on Cas who sat across from him. The green paper crown that must have come from his cracker was now placed on his head and there was confetti dotted along the lapel of his trench coat. But it was the look on his face that had given Dean pause. The angel sat with his hands in his lap and a goofy sort of half smile that brightened his eyes, not that most people would have noticed it. Cas always had a quiet way of making a situation silly. Dean chalked it up to the fact that the angel was probably never quite sure whether he was supposed to make light of things or not. But whatever the reason, his heart or his brain, Dean couldn’t help but take an extra moment to appreciate Cas’ humor, however inadvertent.

After dinner, Cas had caught up to him in the hallway outside of his room. He had forgotten to give Dean one of his gifts when they were exchanging them that morning. It was haphazardly wrapped, not like the other gift Cas had given him. Obviously when he had wrapped the previous one, he had engaged Sam’s assistance. He had opened the small package to reveal a packet of glow-in-the-dark stars. They were the kind that you stick on your ceiling as a kid. Dean had laughed. Cas could be so odd sometimes. The angel had just stood there, gauging the look on Dean’s face. He had almost looked pensive. Dean looked down at his gift and then back at his friend. He smiled and thanked him. Cas had seemed to relax at that. He had lingered a moment, then wished Dean a Merry Christmas and bade him goodnight. The angel had meandered back down the hallway, looking back once with a shy sort of smile. Dean had stood and watched him go. He had a strangely warm feeling inside. Yet for no reason that he could fathom, he could not smile back. He felt glued to the spot, stuck there as if it were the only place on Earth for him. It was stupid, really. After Cas had rounded the corner, he had turned the stars over in his hands and began to read the instructions as he turned to go into his room. 

Now he opened his eyes once more and looked at the stars that were spread out over the ceiling above his bed. He had put them up that very night. Sometimes he even shone a flashlight on them late at night when his door was shut and no one could see, just to see them glow. He had never had something so trivial as a kid, but he had secretly wanted to. Sometimes the kids he went to school with, when he went to school, would invite him to their houses. It was only a handful of times, but he was always jealous of their rooms. They were filled with their possessions. Whole rooms filled with things that were theirs & theirs alone. They were somewhere those boys could go to escape the world. Some were decorated with baseball posters, others had trophies or plastic figures of superheroes. And then there were the stars. It was a staple for every one of them. He liked looking at them as they glowed in the dark. He liked comparing them to the ones outside of the windows. Dean once took comfort in looking at the night sky. In recent years it had become a reminder of Heaven and all the trouble it had caused him. Except Cas. That was one thing that was sent from upstairs that Dean was grateful for. The stars reminded him of Cas now. Come to think of it, looking up into the night sky reminded him of Cas now as well. 

“Well, that’s more how Heaven should be anyway,” he affirmed to himself, crossing his arms over his chest. That little thought made him appreciate the gift even more and he couldn’t help but smile inwardly. He counted the stars then, just as he had done a dozen times over during the past year. Fifty stars.

He sighed, a weighted down breath of air escaping his chest.

Christmas.

Dean turned, took the headphones from his ears, and placed them on his nightstand. He clicked off the light, pulled the blanket up over his shoulder, and fell asleep with an occupied mind.

It was coming, but not the same as it did every year.

******

_December 18th, One Week Before Christmas_

 

“Ready for a trip back to Hastings?” Sam piped up cheerfully as Dean strode into the room, sleep still miring his features.

“What?” He answered and proceeded to pour himself a cup of black coffee.

“Well, Linus Draumeier was released from Nebraska State Penitentiary yesterday. I’ll give you three guesses where he is now.”

“What?” He repeated incredulously, taking a look at Sam’s computer screen, “Former inmate at Nebraska State Penitentiary, Linus Draumeier, found dead outside his new residence at Wonderful Life halfway house. Police have released the official cause of death as severe hypothermia,” he read aloud. He stood back and considered this new state of affairs, “We salted and burned the bones. He must be tied to something. Maybe something at the store, or at his sister’s.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Sam mused, “And there’s obviously a pattern now. He’s out for revenge on the people responsible for his death. I think we should try to track down this Kate Wellington.”

“Good idea. Was there anyone else involved in the money laundering?”

“Not that I can tell. It looks like it started as an embezzlement scam run by Linus and Kate. The security guard was probably brought into it later.”

“Ok, then Kate is our play. Let’s find out if anything was saved after Roger was killed. Burn it & home in time for egg nog, right Sammy?” He clapped his younger brother on the shoulder and smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

They made the hour drive once more only to find that Kate was not home. To pass the time until her return, the brothers decided to revisit the store to see if they could get any more information about the victims and to look for a possible tether. Though the store itself was in the Imperial Shopping Mall, it’s main entrance was blessedly on the outside of the building. Neither Sam nor Dean wanted to traipse through any shopping mall, let alone one at Christmas time. Once inside, classic Christmas songs could be heard over the speakers as shoppers rushed this way and that. A barrage of sale signs and decorations of tinsel assaulted them as they maneuvered through the chaos. 

One corner of the store was set up as Santa’s Workshop. A gingerbread kiosk was set up in front of a gold and red backdrop. In the center was a grand chair with red velvet cushions. Garlands of faux pine and silver bells framed the little scene. It even came complete with giant candy canes, lollipops, and lighted silver ropes. Sitting smack dab in the middle of it all, quietly speaking with the small child on his lap, was Santa. He was dressed all in red, from his head to his feet. His boots were midnight black and shone with polish. The beard that ran in white locks down his chest was obviously fake, but not cheap looking. He had a bright look in his eyes, almost mischievous if one were to look beyond the disguise.

“Wait,” Dean stopped, “Is that? It can’t be.”

He charged through the display, Sam in tow. He halted at Santa’s side, arms crossed and a look of suspicion on his face. The little boy that the Santa Claus had been talking to was walking away now and the man turned to address Dean, an even brighter smile creeping onto his face.

“Well hello there young man! You’re a little big to sit on my lap, but tell me, what is it you would like for Christmas?” His voice was deep and jolly, with a hint of jest.

“How is it you always show up somewhere? Don’t you ever die?” Dean’s tone was that of annoyance and frustration. This charade was going to complicate things, he just knew it.

The man stood up now and spoke in a hushed tone, leaning in to make himself crystal clear, “To these children, I am Santa Claus. Keep your voice down.”

“Yeah, well if a snarky dick of an archangel is Santa, then I’m the Easter Bunny. Wow, talk about ruining the myth,” Dean turned to the line of children waiting to sit on Santa’s knee, “We just need a few words with Santa,” he announced, “There’s a little issue at the North Pole.”

They pulled Saint Nick over behind a large display of jackets.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Dean asked with annoyance.

The archangel Gabriel smiled in that impish way that always got under the Winchesters’ skin, “What can I say? I have a soft spot for Santa Claus. I was the one who came up with the idea to canonize him after all.”

“What?” Dean spat back, “Listen, one, there is no Santa Claus. That’s just a myth parents tell their kids to get them to not behave like brats at Christmas.”

“Actually Dean,” Sam interrupted, “Santa Claus is based on Saint Nicholas who was a Bishop in the fourth century. He became the patron saint of children and was said to have been very generous, even dropping bags of gold down the chimneys of those in need. Gabriel may actually be telling the truth about having a hand in the legends’ creation.”

“Not helping, Sam.”

“See? The giant here has my back,” Gabriel quipped.

Dean huffed in frustration, ignoring his companions and continuing, “Two, the only soft spot you’re going to have is on the side of your face unless you start talking. I don’t have time for your tricks or your attitude. Someone is on the chopping block & we need to find a way to stop it...”

“I know about the case. Why do you think I’m here?” Gabriel replied.

“You’re going to help solve a case?” Sam asked in disbelief.

“Probably one he started,” Dean shot back.

Gabriel deliberately ignored him in favor of answering Sam, “Not specifically, but their Santa was murdered and I like to step in every now and again to make sure the magic is not ruined. I knew you two would show up to save the day. In the meantime, I like to protect the legend, no matter how many times it’s been changed. Because let me tell you, “Jolly” Old Saint Nick can be quite grumpy during the holidays. Population growth, kids wanting more high-tech toys, labor laws...it’s a lot of pressure. Why do you think he and the Krampus get along so well?”

Dean sighed again and scrubbed his face with his hands, “Would you stop with the Santa Claus crap. We need...”

“You,” Gabriel poked Dean square in the nose, “Need to find the Spirit of Christmas.”

Dean clenched his jaw. This was wasting time and it was no business of some arrogant, feathery, good-for-nothing angel how he spent his holiday. They needed to find what the ghost was tethered to and burn it, not sit here talking about children’s stories. True or not, Dean didn’t believe in Santa Claus and even if he did, it would not help him now.

Gabriel smiled, but this time it was different, more genuine. He cocked his head to one side, “Ask him,” said he, “Ask for what you want the most. If he isn’t real, then you haven’t lost a thing. But if you don’t find what you asked for on Christmas, then you can call me a liar and keep on going through life as your sour, disenchanted self. I won’t say a word.”

Dean’s eyes flashed, but he held himself together, “Come on Sammy. We are wasting time.”

Sam, who had been standing back watching the exchange, followed his brother as they moved back toward the Santa’s Workshop display. Gabriel caught his arm before he was out of sight.

“Nice Santa suit, huh?” He gestured at the beautiful deep red velvet coat adorned with golden buttons.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, pulling his arm away, “It’s great.”

******

The way in which the next couple of days played out was not what the Winchester brothers had hoped or even planned for. They had managed to catch Kate Wellington at home. The interview had gone well. They had found out that Roger and her were indeed good friends. She told them how she had not known that Linus was planning on murdering him. The night that it had happened, the two had quarreled over it, but in the end, Roger’s body was found before they had disposed of it. She supposed that they were much better at stealing and money laundering than murder. No one was supposed to be hurt in their scheme though. As for the object they were looking for, the information uncharacteristically presented itself during their conversation. Before Roger died, he had given her a single silver bell tied with a scarlet red velvet ribbon. He told her that it would bring her luck and joked that it had come from the North Pole itself, straight from the reins of Santa’s team. It was such a happy memory that the tears slipped freely down her face when she spoke of it. To this day she regretted what happened and that she had not been able to stop it.

When they had left her house, Dean revealed that he had swiped the bell as it was obviously what they were looking for. Sam had objected for a moment. The bell held such sentiment for the old woman, he felt bad burning it. That was quickly squashed as his brother reminded him that it may hold sentiment, but it also held the twisted, angry soul of a man who deserved to move on. Outside their motel room, they salted and burned the little bell and it’s pretty ribbon. Each was glad to be rid of this case. They looked forward to leaving Hastings behind along with Gabriel and the murderous Santa ghost.

However, by the next morning, the local police department was ringing them. Kate Wellington had been killed in her home. Actually, she had been found on her back porch, her body had been frozen just like the previous victims. Though the weather had taken a turn for the worse and snow now covered the ground, the police were not willing to chalk it up to an accident, not with two other popsicles in the morgue.

Sam and Dean were stumped and frustrated. There was nothing left that pointed to a definitive tether. 

“Maybe there is something that his sister has. Or maybe she’s a witch and she’s casting a spell to get revenge on the people who killed her brother,” Sam offered.

“The EMF was off the charts, Sam,” Dean answered. His voice was solemn as he leaned against Baby outside of the police station, “Damn, why can’t this just be over. That’s really what I want for Christmas,” he gave a bitter laugh.

At that, Sam’s face lit up, “That’s it!”

“That’s what?”

“When we were leaving the store after we found Gabriel, he grabbed me and said ‘Nice Santa suit, huh?’ What if it’s the suit?”

“You think they’re still using the same suit from that long ago? That suit looked in better condition than that. And besides, why now? Why would Roger come back after all these years and start gankin’ people?”

“I don’t know. Maybe something triggered it. But Gabriel knows something,” Sam replied.

“Yeah, but why wouldn’t he have said so. If he knew...wait, never mind. He’s a dick. Let’s move.”

The boys pulled up to the mall and walked into O’Hara’s, guns ready to blaze. ‘Santa’ was just about to take a break, fortunately for everyone.

“Hello, Dean! Hello, Sam!” Gabriel said in his deepest, jolliest voice, his arms outstretched, “What can Santa do for you today? Here to give me your Christmas lists?”

Dean grabbed him by the white fur adorning his collar, “I’ll tell you what I want.”

Sam stepped in and held his brother back, “Whoa, let’s just take it easy. Ok?” He glared at Gabriel, “We’re going to move this somewhere else, right Santa?”

Taking the hint, Gabriel lead the pair into one of the back rooms of the store. Sam stepped in between Dean and the archangel, just as a precautionary measure.

“Why didn’t you tell us about the suit?” Sam began.

“What are you talking about?” Gabriel shot back.

Sam couldn’t tell if he was being sincere in his ignorance or just a raging jerk, “The Santa suit. That’s what Roger’s ghost is tied to.”

Gabriel scoffed, “What? Guys, come on.”

“Tell me it’s not his suit,” Dean stepped up to the archangel, “Tell me that isn’t his suit, that it isn’t what is causing all of this,” he was now face to face with him.

“This is his suit,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes, “It was found when they were cleaning out one of the store rooms a few weeks ago. Linus and his accomplice must have hidden it there. The management doesn’t know. To them, it’s just another Santa suit. But I can tell you this, salting and burning it won’t help.”

“It has always seemed to do the trick before,” came Dean’s impatient retort.

“You don’t get it. Roger was a Santa Claus through and through. He was a helper. He believed in the magic of Christmas. It was a part of him. You can’t just burn that.”

Sam and Dean still looked at him skeptically.

“Look,” Gabriel continued, “if it had been the suit, I would have told you that it was the suit. Salt and burn all you want. But this is more complicated.”

“Really. How so?” Sam piped up.

“Like I said, the normal story won’t work. You can’t kill this. You have to help him on his way. It’s the only way he’ll move on.”

“You mean we need to help one of Santa’s helpers cross over?” Dean asked mockingly.

Gabriel only smiled and nodded.

“Great,” Sam huffed, “How do we do that?”

“Not we,” he replied, “Him,” he pointed at Dean.

“What, me? How?”

“You don’t believe, but you want to. This suit, it brought so much happiness to so many and yet the last moments it saw were violent, tragic. It can’t end that way. Roger won’t allow it. It needs to be made right. The myth must continue,” he paused, “Go out there, Dean. Wear the suit. Make those children happy.”

“Are you kidding?” He raised his eyebrows, “I am not putting on that ridiculous suit and letting a bunch of ankle-biters whine about what toys they want. You got the wrong guy. Why not Sam? Or you? You’ve been doing it. That’s not satisfying enough to ol’ Roge?”

“I am not mortal. I believe because I am the one who made him. Sam believes because he is unwilling to resign himself to a life without wonder. You, on the other hand, have lost so much faith. You hunt the supernatural and yet you can’t bring yourself to believe in true, honest, good magic. And...you have not been able to find your spirit this year and it’s not that you don’t know where it is.”

“Let me guess, it’s out there in a big, red cushy chair?”

“It has to be you, Dean. Make the suit come alive.”

Dean hemmed and hawed about it for a few minutes. He really did just want to get this case over with so that they could get back to the bunker. Cas was there to hold down the fort, but he didn’t want to leave him there too long. It was getting close to Christmas and they really should be there together. Besides, they hadn’t gotten a chance to binge on Netflix in a while and...

He stopped. His mind had run away from him. 

What is wrong with me? He thought. He nervously looked up from where he had, unbeknownst to him, been pacing. Sam’s bitchface said it all. Apparently, he was not the only one to want to get this case over with and get home. Sam’s eyes said ‘Get over it and just wear the damn suit.’

“Fine,” Dean said, “I’ll put on the suit.”

The next few hours found a plumped up Dean Winchester, courtesy of Gabriel, sitting as the most convincing Saint Nick anyone in Hastings had ever seen. When he had first sat down, magic helping to disguise the rugged sharp lines of his face and fit physique, he grumbled and fidgeted. It had not helped that Sam was on the sidelines trying his best not to burst into laughter. The first few children had been rough. Dean felt stiff and anxious. He didn’t know what to say to these kids. What if they asked for something and their parents hadn’t bought it? But he found he just couldn’t bring himself to say no to them. There they were, innocently gazing around at the decorations, lined up in their Christmas dresses and vests. Some had stuffed animals, some had security blankets. Some were bouncing up and down, while others wore anxious faces. Most all of them smiled at him though. Sure some of the toddlers and babies cried, but it began to bother him less and less as the afternoon wore on. He found himself trying his best to make a good and gentle impression on them. He wanted so badly for them not to be afraid, for them to be happy when they saw him. One child who came in, who could not have been more than three, could not see him at all. The little boy’s blind eyes stared just to the left of him as he got into a comfortable position on Dean’s knee.

“What would you like for Christmas?” Dean, or rather Santa, had said.

The boy’s hands came up to pat at his beard. They followed it up to his cheeks and roamed over his forehead. They ran along his thin, wire-rimmed spectacles and stopped once more on his rosy cheeks.

“You’re just how I thought you would be,” the little one said. 

The boy smiled so brightly then that Dean had to pause a moment before he was able to speak again. That had been the turning point. In that moment, he allowed the magic to take him. He didn’t care if he felt like a chick watching Miracle on 34th Street. He genuinely felt like Christmas had finally found him. After that, the time flew by. He saw dozens of children and had more fun than he thought possible, especially given the strange circumstances he now found himself in. At the end of the night, he handed the suit back to Gabriel. The archangel nodded and was gone. The case was closed. 

As they drove back to the bunker, Dean’s thoughts wandered to what Gabriel had said about asking for what he most wanted. A picture of him sitting on Santa’s lap in the middle of a fake winter wonderland found its way into his mind and it made him chuckle.

Sam looked over from where he had been staring at the countryside flying past, “What?”

“Ah, nothing. Just thinking about something Gabriel said,” he replied.

“Oh, so it’s Gabriel now. Not just ‘some dickhead angel’,” Sam ignored the dirty look his brother shot him, “So what do you really want for Christmas?”

Dean smiled. Sam had an uncanny way of reading him sometimes. The smile faded, “You know, I’m really not sure.”

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Thankfully, it was not a long trip. 

 

_December 23rd_

 

Dean lay in bed staring at the starry ceiling above him. It was getting close to midnight and rather than sleep taking him, his thoughts were on the impending holiday. One more, one more sleep till Christmas after tonight, he thought. 

They had made it back to Kansas at least, back home. Everything looked the same as when they had left. A light snow covered the ground and held on to the branches of the barren trees. The bunker was the same as they had left it, Christmas decorations and all. Coming home from the case this time, however, left Dean feeling very much changed. He was not so out of sorts as he had been, or sometimes was after frustrating cases. The lights adorning their Christmas tree looked brighter and the ornaments cheerier. The ridiculous diffuser that Sam had bought a few months ago, and his incessant diffusing of pine oil (because it was festive) didn’t piss him off so much. He was more at ease than he had been in a long time. Apparently, it showed because Sam was leaving him alone about the whole festive cheer thing. Still, though he no longer felt so much like the Grinch, his holiday season still felt incomplete. There was that little bother that lingered deep down. The more he thought about it, the less it became clear to him what exactly was missing. Perhaps it was that the question posed to him by his favorite archangel had yet to be answered. 

What did he truly want?

What could he ask for that could possibly prove that there wasn’t a Santa? Anything could be chalked up to chance or pure coincidence. He could ask for a million dollars. Although, knowing that Gabriel might have a hand in it, he decided against it. He would probably open his door on Christmas morning to see the Publisher’s Clearing House people complete with giant check. Besides, money would be great, but deep down, it had never been what he truly wanted. That little bother fidgeted within him and he wondered why this was so difficult. Why couldn’t he see it? No matter how far down he looked inside, it evaded him. Or maybe he was hiding it from himself. Either way, it was frustrating. Such a simple question, yet insufferably complicated.

As he counted the individual glowing stars splattered across the ceiling of his room, it suddenly hit him. To be loved. What he wanted most in the world, something that could not be faked, that was a product of free will; that’s what he wanted. In truth, it was all he had ever wanted. Sure, he knew in his heart that his mother, father, and brother loved him, even when his mind doubted it. But he had never found true love. The kind in which someone who doesn’t feel obligated to give it, gives it freely because they can’t help themselves. He wanted the kind that would make his heart race. The kind that would make him want to be better than he ever thought possible all because that person chose him out of everyone.

The thought of whom he would like that person to be sent a twinge down his spine, all the way to where the little bother sat. The feeling of absence began to lessen within him. He took in a sharp breath, but pushed everything down. He may have given in and admitted to his sappy Christmas wish, but he was not ready to admit to whom it referred. He forced himself to think about something else, such as how was he going to tell Santa?

Wait.

What was he thinking? Santa was not real. Even if there had been a historical Saint Nick, he was long gone. And yet, Dean was half curious. If nothing else, he could prove Gabriel wrong. Laughing in his face was not finding love, but it wasn’t a bad consolation prize. So he thought about what to do. He wasn’t sure if just having it in his thoughts was enough. He got up from his bed and walked over to his dresser. There he found a crumpled up piece of paper. There was writing on the back that had been scribbled out. So he turned it over, smoothed out the page, and began to write.

Dear Santa,  
How is it going at the North Pole? I’m only writing to prove a point to a stupid angel that seems to think you will get me what I want the most for Christmas. So here it goes. All I want for Christmas is true love. If you’re real and you can fly around the world delivering presents with magical reindeer, and live off of milk and cookies (I’d have chosen pie), and everything else, I think you could do this. Or maybe you can’t. Either way, there it is. 

From,

Dean Winchester

 

Well, that was satisfactory. Now, he thought, what to do with it. He had seen a Christmas movie when he was a kid about how Santa came to be. It was one of those iconic 80s movies, but he loved when it would come on tv. Maybe he would try to find it again sometime, he thought absently. It was a memory that gave him a warm feeling in his chest. He remembered that in the movie, the children put their letters by the fireplace to be whisked off to Santa at the North Pole. Now, it was only a dumb kids movie, but what else made sense about his life? So down the hall and to the left he went. There was a small office, which acted more as a library. No one really used that room and it had one of the few fireplaces in the bunker. It was perfect.

Dean laid back down on his bed. The letter was safely tucked under the fireplace screen. He had closed the door to the office enough to obscure it from view, just in case someone walked by and got curious. He really didn’t need to hear Sam teasing him about writing a letter to Santa. He’d never hear the end of it. Besides, it was all to prove a point. The letter would still be there in the morning, and on Christmas they would open presents and eat candy canes, same as every other year.

But the letter was not there the next morning. Dean opened the door hesitantly, expecting the white, half-crumpled paper to be setting where he had left it. Instead, he was greeted to a warm hearth, filled with wood and flame. He reflexively scratched his head and proceeded to approach the fireplace. Upon further inspection, he saw that the letter was not only gone, but a trail of shimmering glitter lead into the orange flames.

“You built a fire?”

The sudden voice coming from the doorway caused Dean to jump and hit his head on the mantle. Turning, hand now rubbing the back of his head, he saw Sam standing there staring at him.

“Uh...well...yeah. It’s cold and it’s...” he looked around searching for words, “Christmas Eve...Day,” He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want Sam to know about the mouse and the mystery that he had just discovered.

Sam looked at him with an eyebrow raised, “Right. Whatever. Hey, I’m going to head out to town. I still have a few things I need to get. Cas left earlier. Not sure what he’s up to.”

As Sam talked Dean couldn’t help the distraction of the fireplace, the glitter, and the missing letter, “Hey,” he interrupted, “You weren’t in here earlier, were you?”

Sam stopped, confusion apparent on his face, “No. I never really come in here. Come to think of it, neither do you. Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, “Never better.”

“Ok, I’m going to pretend that I believe that. I have to get going. Call me if you need me to bring you anything back,” he said with a sigh.

Dean nodded back with a forced grin. Sam rolled his eyes and took off down the hallway. The rest of the morning was uneventful. He had tried to think of an explanation for the earlier mystery, but couldn’t come up with anything that felt right. He eventually gave up. Feeling lazy, Dean shuffled around the bunker looking to stem his boredom. He played some darts, made himself a sandwich, and watched The Ref on tv. When he wandered back to his room looking to take a nap, what he found was a small emerald card sitting on his bed. There was gold scrollwork across the front and inside was much of the same. The swirls came together to form words and Dean’s mind raced as he read them.

Midnight, Tonight  
The Bluff  
Cas

“Short and to the point as always,” he quipped to the note. He couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was up with Cas disappearing for the day and now wanting to talk to him in private, at midnight no less. The bunker was as safe and secure as anywhere, more so. Was it a job? Something he didn’t want Sam to know about? But Sam was out as well. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard Cas come home. Maybe he had run in and run out again? It was not like him not to say hello. Maybe he was in trouble. Dean became worried. The angel could, of course, take care of himself, but that knowledge didn’t stop Dean from wanting to be there in case something got out of control.

He took a deep breath. He was the one who was getting out of control. Cas is fine, he told himself. Maybe he just wants to do some weird angel thing because it’s Christmas. Dean laughed. Then his face dropped.

“It’s Christmas,” he whispered into the room.

He didn’t have anything to give Cas. Well, it wasn’t exactly that he didn’t have anything. He had bought something for the angel a couple of weeks ago, but now that the day had arrived, he was not sure if he was ready to give it to him. Dean reached for the nightstand drawer. It opened with ease and he pulled out the small, flat, square box. Turning it over and over in his hands. He hesitated to open it. It’s smooth, dark blue top was tied with a sparkling silver ribbon. He had purposefully opted for something different, more akin to a bracelet box. Not something that may give anyone the wrong impression, after all, it was only a gift. It was a harmless token of friendship. Dean peeked inside. Then, taking the top off completely, he picked up the shining silver ring.

********

_December 24th, Midnight_

 

The bite of winter nipped at his flush cheeks as he stepped out into the snow. It was incredibly dark. The area in front of the bunkers entrance was completely shadowed from the moon. Had it not been for the evening snowfall, one would not be able to tell the ground from the trees. His gloved hand reached into his back pocket and retrieved his phone. The device quickly illuminated the area and Dean headed toward the precipice.

It was not far, and Dean walked through the silent night with stealth. It was not so much out of fear or jest that he did this, it was simply how his body operated now. He passed the black trees of the forest; their long, slender branches reached toward the stars that brightened the sky. He thought about how many years they had been doing that. Each day and each night they stood in their own small claim of forest, reaching and reaching their arms skyward. Yet here they were, only a fraction closer to where they so yearned to be. How they must ache. How focused they are on their heavenly ideal. How lost they must feel that it is so far from where they are. They only see the distance. So focused are they with what seems to be an insurmountable journey, that they only look up. Oh, but if a tree could bend. If they could look to one side or the other, perhaps these lonely giants of nature would see that the absolution for which they reach is closer than they believed. To forgive each other for their blindness, and to forgive themselves for years wasted. And so Dean walked in the space between them, drinking in the crisp air and allowing it to escape once again in a cloud of steam. 

Suddenly, the trees parted and he was there. It was a small clearing that rounded out a rocky bluff. The vista was that of bare cottonwoods blanketed in snow that shimmered in the moonlight. Standing just far enough from the edge to be not but a silhouette was Cas. The angel stared into the distance with a pensiveness far more pronounced than his daily manner. A small box occupied his right hand. He turned it this way and that, absently playing with the object. 

Dean stood completely still, half hidden behind a close by tree. He wanted to call out to him, yet the solitude and peacefulness of the moment would not allow him this freedom. It was like a picture print. There was no sound, only the indelible image of an angel on Earth, gazing at the midnight sky, surrounded by a winter wonderland, on Christmas Eve. Dean was its only witness. He felt selfish in his desire to keep this moment for himself, but it was a minor indulgence that only he and the stars would know about.

He faltered for a moment, lost in his thoughts. It was enough to shift the snow beneath his feet and send a few flurries falling from the thin branches above him. Cas immediately snapped the box safely into his hand and turned with a jerk. He braced himself. In the event that this was not the person with whom he was meant to meet, Cas wanted to be prepared. The tip of his angel blade ran quietly along the inside of his wrist as he took a step toward the figure in the trees. 

“Dean?” He called out tentatively.

Shaking the snow from his collar and shoulders, Dean stepped out into the clearing, “Yeah, it’s me, Cas. You can put the blade away.”

Cas immediately relaxed, “You could have made your presence known,” he huffed.

Dean smiled in return, ignoring the angel’s fluster, “So what did you want to see me about?” 

“I did not ask to see you,” He replied. Cas watched as his friends face fell a bit, “I...your note. You left a note for me.”

Dean’s face now turned to one of incredulity, “My note? You were the one who left me a note saying to meet you here at midnight.”

“Dean, I can assure you...”

Somewhere off in the distance the trees began to blow, and they carried with them a melody of bells upon the air. The pair stopped their trivial quarrel and turned simultaneously to where the sound could be heard rising over the snow. It started down low, and it began to grow. Dean caught Cas’ hand in his own and took a step forward, anchoring himself as the magical scene played out before his disbelieving eyes.

“What’s going on here?”

He looked up and saw, or rather thought he saw, a figure of a sleigh being pulled by a team of reindeer traveling through the night sky. His eyes widened. It was every picture in every Christmas book that he had snuck a look at on the rare occasions that he had been in a bookstore or library. The snow sparkled gently while a full moon hung brightly against a backdrop of stars. Bare trees framed the vista being overlooked by a couple bundled against the cold. And the shadow of Santa’s sleigh above the moon, well...it was picture perfect. He looked at Cas, his partner in this holiday eve postcard. Cas did not seem to mind or question what was happening. He simply stood and smiled against the chill, his cheeks pink from the sting of the wind. Dean wondered what made him smile so.

And then Cas looked at him.

His eyes shone blue in the eve’s pale light and there was a happiness that reached beyond his smile. 

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Such a simple statement, and yet it hit Dean with enough force so as to leave him bereft of air with which to speak. With all his might, he tried to will his mouth to move, to will his voice to rise over the snow and bare branches of the forest. It was to no avail.

Cas squeezed his friend’s hand. Dean had not taken it away after he had grasped it moments ago. There they had remained, clasped together. The man now looked down to see Cas’ hand being replaced by the small box that he had been holding earlier. He turned it so that the thick, gold ribbon twinkled in the moonlight.

Dean’s mouth turned up into a lopsided smile, “Thanks Cas,” he said with his newly found voice. He gave the box a tiny shake next to his ear, “Should I wait until tomorrow morning?” He joked.

“Technically, it is Christmas morning now,” the angel informed him.

“Well, in that case,” he nervously pulled his own gift out of his pocket and handed it to Cas, “I, uhhh, got you something. It’s just, you know, something small, but I thought, you’d...anyway, go, open it...” he shifted his weight from left to right and back again.

Cas smiled at him in that shy way that always made Dean a little sad. It was the smile of someone who did not know how beautiful and awesome they were. It was humble, handsome, and searching.

“You first.”

“If you insist,” Dean removed his gloves and pulled the ribbon across the smooth wrapping paper. Then grinning, he hastily tore open the little package. The top of the box came off easily and he looked inside. There he found a Tungsten over Rose Gold ring. The outside of it was black with the exception of a thin rose gold stripe circling it. The inside of the ring was all gold and it lay amidst a white cushion that rivaled the purity of the snow around them.

“Did you just...give me a ring?” Dean’s voice was light only for the fact that the weight behind his words had completely tipped him off of his scale. His sideways smile served to confirm this.

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly, “I hope you like it. I had bought it once because it reminded me of you. I never had the occasion to give it to you. Well, until now,” he said in an obvious way.

“Right, right...” Dean stumbled over the words. His voice lowered to a more serious tone, “I like it,” he turned the ring over a few times, running his fingers over the edges, “It’s funny too, because...open yours,” he looked at Cas with jovial trepidation.

Cas complied and slid the silver ribbon off of the royal blue box that he carefully held in his hand. He opened the lid and moved it under the bottom of the box so as to cradle it. His face was still, almost unreadable, and Dean’s heart sank. The thought that Cas would not like his gift had never entered his mind. It had been overshadowed by his thoughts on the implications it might have. When he was choosing whether or not to actually give it to him, he had gone back and forth many times. Would it be misconstrued? Did he want it to be? It had always been a gift of friendship. Though now it seemed to mean more to him. He felt more for the angel than friendship. Indeed, in the past they had just been friends. They hung out, drank beer (even though Cas didn’t much care for it with his angel taste buds), and exchanged normal gifts of gloves, knives, electronic gadgets, and the like. But now everything was different. The thing that had changed since last Christmas now hung heavy between them, embodied in two rings held with a delicate grip.

Cas looked up at him with tears in his eyes, “Thank you.”

Dean let his breath out instantly and smiled, “So, you like it? I didn’t know if it was your style. You don’t really wear jewelry, but...”

“I like it...I...” Cas slipped the silver ring over his fourth finger and looked at Dean, meaning playing in his eyes, “I love it.”

The air froze on the bluff. The only sound was the swishing of mist beyond the trees. Dean swallowed hard and willed himself to speak, “You do?”

Emboldened, Cas stepped forward and took the black ring from Dean’s fingers. He held his hand and slipped it onto the fourth finger, then clasped their hands together as they had been when they first heard the jingling bells.

“What did you ask Santa for, for Christmas?” Cas asked in a rough, deep voice.

Dean pulled back and looked at the angel for a moment, taking in the profound azure of his eyes and the gentle curve of his mouth.

“I asked him for what I wanted most. Turns out, it was right next to me the whole time.”

“Do you believe in Santa Claus, Dean Winchester?”

The man paused and then brought their hands up to cup Cas’ face together, their rings a matching pair against the chilled skin of his cheek. Dean stole a thankful glance toward where the dark sleigh had earlier appeared amongst the glowing stars, “I believe.”

With that, he kissed his angel.

* * * Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night * * *

The End


End file.
